The Bonds That Hold Me Here
by Rhyssie Lachance
Summary: A mysterious, young slave dancer is employed at the castle. Her intent was escape, she doesn't think about anything else. What will happen when, for the first time in her life, she feels like she belongs. Will she stay, or will she leave?


**The Bonds That Hold Me Here**

**by: Rhyssie Lachance**

The painful ordeal was finally over. I was roughly pulled off the foreign slave ship and dragged by the chain around my neck across the filthy docks and to the nearby auction yard. I was nauseous. I had not taken to the rough sea life well. My face had been green and sickly and was only now returning to its usually rich olive colour. My dark, long legs, toned and strong from years of disciplined dancing, ached with the strain of keeping them tightly folded underneath myself while I had been chained up in the hold.

I took a moment to look around. My fellow slaves and I were chained in a line by our ankles, ensuring we could not escape. The auction block was located in the centre of the busy town's marketplace. It was a bitter cold day, I shivered involuntarily and my teeth chattered. I had heard that it was colder up here, north of the exotic lands my people roamed, but I did not think it possible for the world to be cold as this. Dark storm clouds were moving in over the summit of the ominous, snowy, mountain in the distance.

I felt free as a bird now, in the cold open air, despite all four of my lithe limbs being burdened with the heavy, rusting manacles. I had been getting claustrophobic in the small, dark hold that I had been chained in prior to this moment, which smelled rankly of human waste and decay. I shook my bonds slightly, venting a little bit of my anger and frustration while attempting to get more blood circulation back into my sore wrists and ankles.

The noise I had made unknowingly gathered a small crowd of people to the yard. People began to laugh and jeer at my shabby clothing and hopeless situation. Despite my crushing circumstances, I refused to be subdued into the numbing submission that gripped the simple minds of the other slaves. I stood tall and proud, lifting each foot high and defiantly, unlike the others, who shuffled their bare, chained feet mournfully.

I must have looked quite odd to them. My dark brown hair was matted and tangled. My dress was once beautiful, embroidered with gold, now it was torn and tattered, tripped of it's finery. It had been cut off at the knee, showing my bare, dark and graceful legs to the crowd. The back of my dress was shredded and stained with old, dried blood and my back riddled with lacerations where the slave dealer's whip had dug into my dark flesh after a failed escape. I had not tried to escape my terrible fate since.

Suddenly, the crowd quieted and parted before someone. As an aged man stepped forth even the hushed whispers amongst ceased to be heard. He wore light, polished armour and an elegant sword sword hung by his side. He looked to be a knight, one of the finest of the king's, by the way the crowd treated him. His aged face was wise and stern but his grey eyes twinkled with a small amount of mirth in their commanding gaze. His hair was ebony black, save for the hair that graced his forehead and was tucked behind his ears, which was bleached white with age. He moved lightly, each footfall scarcely making a sound on the cobblestone road, but confidently. His entire person carried a sense of honour and duty.

I thought the knight unusual, most knights strutted about proudly, arrogantly proclaiming their greatness to the world and demanding to be showered in the praise they thought they deserved for the simple act of breathing. This knight did none of that, he had yet to even speak a word, and yet he somehow commanded a quiet respect, which all the crowd gave him.

As unusual as I had thought the knight, I thought his squire even more so. The young squire had fiery red hair that was curlier than a pig's tail, bright green eyes and long legs, but none of this was what made the squire so odd. The squire was unique in another way, she was a girl. A female squire, a sight I had never heard of, much less seen.

While I had been silently gaping at the pair, the knight had worked his way down the line of slaves to me. He looking me over critically, not unlike how one would examine livestock. While he did so, I looked him directly in the eye, defying the orders of the slave dealer and asking for a beating. Time seemed to stand still as the knight and I held each others gaze, silently daring the other to look away.

He made a small noise in the back of his throat, quiet enough to be audible only to my ears, warning me to look away. Any other slave would have stared down at their bare, calloused feet, but not I. I turned my gaze to the red-headed squire girl.

She stared openly, her shock at the scars on my back showed plainly on her face. How easy her life must have been for her to have never seen the marks of a whip. The scars I would carry for the rest of my life were quite common, especially in a castle. Perhaps she was new at the castle and had lived in a home without slaves until now. Besides, she couldn't have been a squire for long, she only looked a little younger than I, perhaps fifteen.

Finally, the knight spoke "what is her trade?", he inquired of the slave dealer, pointing to me. The slave dealer was a fearsome man who enjoyed the pain of others. He was tall, muscled and tattooed, ruthless and cruel. He had given me thirty lashes for escaping. I was halfway across the country before they caught me. I had paid dearly for that.

"She's said t' be a dancer, purdiest you'd ever seen", the dealer answered. "If ya can make 'er dance, that is. She's a tough one."

The knight turned his eyes back to me. "Will you dance for my king, child?", he asked me.

I hesitated, this could be my chance. If I pretended to be a good little slave dancer, they might not a keep a tight rein on me, and I could escape and get home. I would have to find out which direction home was in first though.

I looked out to the crowd, to see who else was interested in me. I saw several suspicious-looking men eyeing my bare legs. I made my decision quickly.

"If your king would take pleasure in my dancing, milord.", I curtsied, pretty-as-you-please. The dealer huffed, he knew my game. I was only doing this to escape him, or another fate as horrible. I hoped the knight would buy me. I was terrified to think what would become of me if he did not.

The dealer was very angry with me now, one glace at his frightening face was enough to tell me what would come next if the deal was not made. I would be sent straight to the brothel. They paid highly for maidens, especially for beautiful, exotic dancers.

The knight pondered over the deal. "How much are dancers going for now?"

"20 pence", replied the dealer, cutting right to the chase.

"Don't you think that seems a little high?"

"It's only what's fair", he grumbled.

"Really?", the knight fingered the hilt of his sword casually, then looked the dealer in the eye. "I am not sure the king would agree with you."

The dealer gulped audibly, "10 pence", he stammered.

The knight threw a bag of coins at him and the dealer released my chains, save for a single chain that hung around my neck like a leash. To my surprise the knight did not grab the chain the dealer had offered to him. He simply turn to me and said one word, "come", completely trusting me to do as he asked, no strings attached. Did he actually think that I would just follow him? I stood stock-still for a second, contemplating the ethics of making a run for it.

He began to walk away and I found myself walking next to the squire, certain that if I ran, I would not be free for long. For now I would play the part of the good little slave. Escape could wait for later.


End file.
